


god's redeemed

by ruimoh



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M, No beta we die like Blake, i mean ok a lot of ppl still die cuz it's world war 1 but.... u kno, not them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:27:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23693110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruimoh/pseuds/ruimoh
Summary: "Am I dying?""No! No, Blake, you're going to make it, help is here, you're going to make it."
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53





	god's redeemed

**Author's Note:**

> me watching 1917 for the third time: maybe this time blake won't die

"...Am I dying?"

Blake's voice cracked as he asked, looking up at Schofield with terrified eyes. Schofield's chest hurt, this situation didn't feel real -- but he hardens his heart to answer. 

But before the word could pass through his lips, another voice suddenly called out. "Hey! What the hell are you doing out here?" 

As quickly as his heart had hardened, the desperation and refusal to accept it was back just as fast. and Schofield whipped his head around to see a soldier walking up from the road past the abandoned farm. He turned back to Blake, gripping him tighter and trying to ignore how his skin was grey-white. "No, no Blake, you're going to make it. Help is here, you're going to make it." And something possessed him in that moment, maybe it was the whiplash of going from forcing himself to accept his best friend was going to die to suddenly having hope again, but Schofield cupped Blake's face with a shaking hand and kissed him hard on the forehead, heart hammering in his chest. He ran his thumb over Blake's cheek. "You're going to make it." 

Blake blinked at him, surprised, but Schofield didn't give him a chance to otherwise react. "We need medical help over here! It's urgent!" 

In a flurry of motion, they were suddenly surrounded by a handful of other soldiers, one of them thankfully having some medical knowledge and supplies. Schofield didn't let go of Blake's hand as the soldier worked to stop the bleeding, desperately shaking his face whenever it looked like he was going to pass out. "Stay awake, Tom, you have to stay awake."

Blake had lost most of his energy to fight back by the time they hurried to lift him and get him into the truck. The rest of the soldiers had just finished hauling a fallen tree out of the road, and Schofield hurriedly explained the situation to the captain, who scratched his head and sighed. "We were set to pass through Ecoust, but we can make a slight detour to a camp with a medical tent. It's not too far from here, but it means we'll end up going around Ecoust which won't help you out any with delivering your message."

"It's fine! I'll go on foot when we detour, please, just get him there as soon as possible."

"Alright, alright. Get in." 

The other soldiers in the back of the truck bickered and chatted as they drove, but Schofield didn't process any of what they were saying, only able to stare at Blake as he took shallow, hoarse breaths. Maybe they tried to ask him something, but he didn't reply, and eventually they left him alone. 

But of course, nothing could go well for long. It was only a few minutes into the drive before the truck jerked and suddenly stopped, stuck in the middle of the road. Snapping out of his stupor, Schofield scrambled out of the truck with the others to find the wheels completely stuck in the mud. "What are you waiting for? Everyone push!" He yelled, pressing his hands against the back bumper. Slightly put off my his demanding tone, the other soldiers reluctantly joined in, grunting as they tried to force the truck out of the mud. 

When is didn't work the first time, one of them, out of breath, said, "It's no good, we'll have to find some wood to put under the wheels."

"There's no time for that!" Schofield exploded, voice cracking. "Everyone hurry up and push harder!" 

Clearly sensing his desperation, they tried again, and slowly they felt the truck start to escape the grips of the mud. Yelling with the effort, it finally began to move, and Schofield all but roared as his arms went numb, all he could think about was Blake's paper white face as the light in his eyes began to dim, and with a final push at last the truck was freed.

The ride lasted another few minutes until the truck stopped again. The driver yelled from the front seat, "Lance Corporal Schofield, this is your stop. We're detouring around Ecoust from here."

Schofield exhaled sharply and looked at Blake again. His breaths were still shallow and his complexion hadn't regained any color. "Hey, the faster you get out, the faster we can get him help. Go on, now."

"Right. Thanks." Schofield tore his gaze away and hopped out.

"Good luck, mate!" a soldier called out. Schofield nodded, and the truck drove off as he turned and headed straight. He glanced back once a moment later, by then the truck just a small movement in the distance, and Schofield started running towards Ecoust. 

When he was shot at from afar, he thought of Blake every time he fired back from behind his cover.

When he killed the man and fell backwards down the stairs, Blake's pale face was the last thing in his mind before he blacked out.

When he woke up, disoriented and groggy and feeling like he was late for something, he wondered why Blake didn't wake him up. 

When he ducked for cover as the flares lit up and the Germans searched for him among the ruins, he wondered if Blake had been stabilized or if he had died after Schofield had left. 

When he softly sang a song for the woman and baby hiding in a basement, he thought that the baby's innocent blue eyes reminded him a bit of Blake's. 

When he strangled the German soldier to death with his bare hands, he watched the light fade from his eyes and tried not to think about what it reminded him of.

When Schofield fell into the river, dropped off of the waterfall, and almost drowned, his mind was blank and his instincts took over. Survive, survive, survive. If a certain someone's smile gave him the strength to keep moving his arms until his head broke the surface of the water, if that kept him from throwing up as he used the bodies of the dead to climb out or the river, if that's the only thing he wanted to see as he gave himself a few small seconds to cry as he finally crawled onto land, then well, he can just use the excuse that he's been through quite a lot. 

When Schofield saw the trees, he could only feel like he had finally reached the finish line. His mind was fuzzy. This was good enough, wasn't it? He had found the trees, hadn't he come far enough. 

"I am a poor wayfaring stranger,

I'm traveling through this world of woe.

Yet there's no sickness, toil nor danger,

In that bright land to which I go."

Faintly, a voice rang through the forest, and like a man under a spell, Schofield found his body moving towards it. His limbs felt like lead, and at the same time he could barely feel them at all. He was vaguely aware of his soaked clothing clinging to his skin and making his movements even more difficult, but the awareness was more like that of an observer, as his consciousness seemed to be floating alongside his body rather that residing inside of it.

"I'm going there to see my father

I'm going there, no more to roam.

I'm only going over Jordan,

I'm only going over home."

The voice was in front of him now. He slumped against a tree, wondering if Blake was among the rest of the soldiers gathered around the person singing. Schofield hoped so, this seemed like the kind of thing Blake would like.

"Hey, who the hell are you?" Schofield heard some soldiers debating around him as the song ended. He wasn't sure what they were saying, but oh, that's right, he was on a mission wasn't he?

"Have to find the Devons," he mumbled. It was already light out, maybe he was too late. 

"What? Well, we're the Devons."

Something clicked in Schofield's mind, and some of the fog started to clear. "You're the Devons? Why haven't you left yet?"

The soldier explained that they were the second string, told him Colonel Mackenzie was farther up, and Schofield once again found his body moving on its own, running and pushing through people with endurance he didn't know he still had. His thoughts were coming a little clearer along with the urgency that had started to fade. He still had to complete this mission. He couldn't reunite with Blake only to tell him that he had failed and his brother had died. 

He couldn't face Blake if he failed. 

With every desperate plea to tell him where to find Colonel Mackenzie because they had been ordered to stop the attack, his voice grew more and more hoarse. The curses and swears spat at him rolled off him like water, but with every second that passed he came closer to failing. Closer to being responsible for the deaths of 1600 men, including Blake's brother. 

It was in his nature to think twice about things, to take the rational and safer course of action, but he barely hesitated before pulling himself out of the trench and running down the line as soldiers sprinted into battle and shots were fired around him. Every time he fell down he lost precious seconds that brought him closer to failing and being unable to face Blake again, so he never stopped moving, rolling up off the ground and getting back on his feet immediately. 

The soldiers who tried to keep him from making it inside to where Mackenzie was couldn't hold him back. Schofield didn't know where this strength was coming from or how much of it could possibly be left before he keeled over, but that wasn't important. 

Schofield did feel like he was almost going to collapse with relief when Mackenzie agreed to stop the attack. He felt like he might cry when he was told he did well. But his body kept moving, because his job wasn't done yet -- he still had to find both Blake brothers. 

At first it seemed like no one knew where Lieutenant Joe Blake was, but finally the universe had mercy on him and he saw a man who looked like Tom -- looked just like him, only a little older. 

Out of every horrible challenge Schofield had faced today, the most difficult one was telling Lt. Blake that honestly, he had no idea if his younger brother was alive or dead. He'd convinced himself he was alive, of course, how else could he have made it this far? But to admit, both to himself and to Tom's brother, that he didn't know... he nearly couldn't get the words out. 

"He saved my life," Schofield blurted out instead of apologizing like he meant to. 

Joe exhaled and smiled a bit. "Tom is strong. For now, I want to believe that you've saved his as well."

\---

Hours later, after getting his injuries checked and stale bread shoved at him, Schofield hopped off the truck that had taken him to the camp Blake was supposed to have headed to for treatment. It was almost funny -- the past 24 hours had been nothing but rushing, urgency, and desperation, but now that he was finally reaching the true finish like he found himself nervous and hesitating in case he found out the worst. It was best to assume the worst had in fact happened, he decided. There was every chance Thomas Blake had died before even getting here. None of the other soldiers would have felt the same urgency to save him, of course they wouldn't. Surely they'd done their due diligence, but why would they keep going above and beyond for a random soldier not even from their division? With a wound like that, it was amazing Blake had lasted even as long as he did.

Expect the worst. Expect the worst. Don't get your hopes up. 

He wandered into the medical tent, rows and rows of cots set up with wounded soldiers lying there desperately fighting to take another breath, to live another day. Schofield knew this, but he couldn't help but feel disappointment every time he passed a face that wasn't Blake's. 

As he passed everyone in the first row, and then the second, his stomach continued to twist. He had to be in the third row. He had to be, because if he wasn't here, the only other place he could be was... Schofield didn't want to think about Blake lying discarded in a temporary grave. 

But as he got to the end of the row and Blake's face wasn't among that of the injured, he had to prepare himself to start asking. 

His eyes were burning and he couldn't help but wonder, what had it all been for? Schofield didn't care about awards and recognition. He cared that he had saved people, including Blake's brother, but if Blake wasn't even around to know about it... 

"...and then the rat bites straight through his ear, bites it clean off his head and runs away with it!" 

Schofield's heart stopped in his chest as the familiar voice was drowned out by people laughing at him. Slowly, he turned and looked outside of the medical tent, not yet daring to get his hopes up until he recognized the small form, still pale but with a bit of color back in his cheeks, wincing as he laughed and then resting a hand on the right side of his abdomen. He was leaning leisurely against a tree, two other bandaged soldiers sitting sitting by him. 

Schofield stared for a minute, wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him, but then Blake looked up and stopped mid-laugh as he met Schofield's eyes. 

"Scho?"

The other two soldiers looked up at him as well. "Oh, is this your friend you told us about? That's great, look at that, he's all in one piece!" one of them exclaimed, patting Blake on the shoulder. "Let's get our bandages change while they catch up, yeah?" He looked pointedly at the other injured soldier. 

They hobbled off, and Schofield slowly walked over to Blake and sat down next to him, resting his back against the tree as well. "Thank fucking god," Schofield muttered, closing his eyes. "Thank god."

Blake put his hand on Schofield's forearm and let it rest there. "I mean, I was actually going to thank YOU, but if you don't want the credit..." Schofield choked out a laugh, eyes burning threateningly. After a second of silence, Blake hesitantly moved his hand down, interlacing his fingers with Schofield's. Schofield squeezed his hand back and Blake scooted a little closer, hissing lightly in pain as he did so. Schofield couldn't tell if Blake was blushing, or if his face was just finally regaining for of its color. 

"So, ah, apparently getting stabbed is gonna put me out of commission for a bit," Blake started. "They said I can go home for a few weeks starting the day after tomorrow." 

"It'd be death for you if they didn't," Schofield commented. "They offered me time home too. Didn't really want it, going home is more trouble than it's worth for me, but they said something about concussions and shell shock... I feel pretty fine now though." 

"Why don't you... come with me then?" Blake asked, not meeting his eyes, staring only at their locked hands. 

Schofield froze. Don't get your hopes up, Will, he's alive, don't hope for more than that. Don't be greedy. "Why?" he blurted. That was... not what he meant to say. 

"Because..." Blake fidgeted. "I don't know, maybe you just did it cause I was dying, but when you..." Schofield's heart raced; he honestly thought Blake hadn't been coherent enough to remember the way he had kissed him on the forehead. "Agh! Will, I..." Blake looked frustrated and embarrassed, and even though Schofield was ten times more afraid in this moment than he had ever been on the battlefield, he couldn't help but think... cute. Really cute. Blake looked around them -- there was no one nearby except for the injured laying in the medical tent. 

Decisively, Blake grabbed Schofield's face (a little too hard!) and looked at him hesitantly for only a second before leaning in and pressing their lips together. 

It only lasted a second before he pulled back away, wincing at how he had twisted. His face was bright red -- good, that was good, Schofield thought absentmindedly as he reached up to touch his lips, Blake didn't look like he was half dead anymore. 

"Oh god, did I get it wrong?" Blake looked at him, panicked. "I thought... fuck. Will, I mean Scho, let's just pretend--"

Schofield cut him off when he leaned back in and kissed him again. Blake stiffened, surprised, then relaxed completely, resting one hand on Schofield's shoulder and the other on the side of his neck, pulling him closer. His lips parted, deepening the kiss, and Schofield felt drunk on his taste, on his scent, on the way his hair felt as he ran his fingers through it, but --

They were still out in the open. Reluctantly, Schofield leaned back, breathing heavily as Blake stared at him and kept a grip on his sleeve as if he was going to run away. (As if he could ever.) "So we leave the day after tomorrow?"

And finally, finally, Schofield felt the urgency and worry start to leave him. The 24 hour long adrenaline rush felt like it was over at last, and Schofield could maybe feel himself relaxing. He started to become painfully aware of the throbbing in his head, of every cut and bruise on his body, of the heavy ache in all of his limbs. It felt like he hadn't been crushed under the weight of the world, but as soon as the weight was lifted, he was collapsing under the relief. Schofield leaned his head against the tree and closed his eyes, smiling as the exhaustion finally hit him. He felt Blake fidgeting and adjusting himself next to him, and then felt him rest his head on his lap and sigh. As his mind started to drift off into sleep, he lightly hummed along with the song playing in his head.

"I know dark clouds will gather round me,

I know my way is rough and steep.

But golden fields lie just before me,

Where God's redeemed shall ever sleep."

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in one sitting in a quarantine induced fervor for min @einsniko i also did not re-read through it or edit it WHATSOEVER because my brain is rotting THANKS


End file.
